


New Chapters to Old Books

by snark_sniper



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Identity Reveal, Weddings, another goddamn reveal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snark_sniper/pseuds/snark_sniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Chat Noir finds himself mysteriously invited to his own wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Chapters to Old Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonsandInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsandInk/gifts).



> I've never written for the ML fandom and likely won't again, but the idea approached me one night and I had to write it very quickly before I went to sleep. (Incidentally, that explains my poor pun game in this fic. I'm usually such a good punner.) Now, a month later, I'm bored and decided I'd like to post some fluff - or the closest approximation for my style - after a very sad update on my other story. So yeah.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to/blamed on my best friend, DragonsandInk, who got me into this fangasm-worthy show right around finals season.

“Chat?”

“Yes, my lady?” Chat would have answered more lightly if not for Ladybug’s hesitant, vaguely nervous tone. His lady—and he means the term platonically, a feat that took him years to master—hasn’t taken such a tone since three years ago, when she followed her introduction with “I have a boyfriend.”

“I just… Here.”

Chat turns his head. Ladybug is still staring out at the city, but on the rooftop they’re sitting on, under her left hand, is a creamy white envelope with a gold seal. She slides the envelope across the ledge to where Chat is perched, two feet away.

Chat raises an eyebrow.

“My boyfriend proposed to me a month ago,” she says, still eyeing the cityscape and particularly the Eiffel Tower. “And we set the date. I want you to come to the wedding.”

Chat looks at the envelope, and then at her. Is this a reward? He listened patiently when she slowly opened to him on nighttime patrols, when she started talking about her nosy but loving best friend, her sweet parents (their profession unknown to Chat, but their overall goodness undeniable), and the boy Ladybug liked. In respect for their aliases, he asked for no names. But when Ladybug asked him for advice—“You’re a guy, right?”—he willingly gave it.

Four years ago, when they first started fighting crime at sixteen, Chat would have been much sorer about this. He would still help, of course, for his lady. But he would be unable to deny some sort of jealousy.

The truth was that at the time, as his alter ego, Chat had developed a love interest of his own. She was no Ladybug, not quite, but as he overheard Marinette speaking to her friends or to the class as their president, he’d grown more impressed with her leadership skills. His work with her concerning Evillustrator in particular sealed the deal; Marinette was as tough as his Ladybug, but balanced that trait with a (metaphorical) poise that made her act for the long-term, not just the battle. Whereas Ladybug saved lives, Marinette saved friendships; as Ladybug interrupted evildoing, Marinette prevented its appearance in the first place.

So when Marinette asked him to lunch, just the two of them, he was surprised. In the past she’d mustered up the nerve to enact things she’d cared about; summoning the nerve to ask explicitly for a date—once he understood what she was saying, anyway—only impressed him. And flattered him, to be worth her effort. And he respected her, and he liked her for her quieter confidence and her humility and the passion she poured into the projects she adopted, and—

And it still felt like a betrayal to his feelings for Ladybug. Until, after a few outings with Marinette, he met Ladybug on patrol and she said that she had a boyfriend. A “kind of maybe” boyfriend, he learned when he pressed her with gentle teasing.

As their conversation went on that night, Chat realized his lady wasn’t really his. Another, better guy had caught her attention—someone handsome, probably, and charming and better at puns than he was. But as he thought back to his times with Marinette—to the way he’d laughed, fully laughed, in a way that he didn’t often do even with Ladybug—he knew when enough was enough.

His flirtations with Ladybug scaled back drastically. They still bantered, but about one another’s performances. The true teasing he saved for Marinette, as their relationship grew out of high school and into university. And the more confident Ladybug reported herself in her relationship, the more happy Chat felt in his. They didn’t trade names or details of dates, but they rooted for each other.

Three years after their relationship began, after Adrien and Marinette graduated from high school and finished their first year of university, Chat didn’t ask Ladybug whether he should propose to Marinette. And now, three years and a month later, Ladybug is presenting him with a wedding invitation. The more Chat thinks about it, it isn’t a reward for his help in starting her relationship. It’s a guilt trip.

“You honor me, milady,” says Chat, “but I have to wonder how you’re going to hide your face from me at the ceremony. Thick veil, maybe? Seat me behind a pillar?”

“That’s the thing,” says Ladybug.

“What, the pillar?”

Ladybug snorts and rolls her eyes. “No, Chat.”

“Well, then you’d better un _veil_ it to me.”

“I was thinking,” says Ladybug, ignoring Chat’s very good sense of humor, “that maybe it’s time we knew each other. You know. Outside of work.”

“…So you’re telling me that all these years, all I had to do was find someone to propose to you.”

“If I recall correctly, you didn’t _find_ anyone.”

“Maybe not, but I helped you reel him in.” Chat mimics cashing a fishing line from the rooftop. “Hey, do you think he’d be willing to run around with us in a fish costume? Maybe we could find a fish kwami somewhere.”

“All joking aside, Chat,” and now Ladybug does turn to look at him. “What do you think?”

Chat is caught off-guard by the determination in her eyes. “Well…um, it’s always been your rule, right? That we keep our identities secret. If you want to break it, I won’t stop you, but I want you to remember it was your idea. In case you get angry later because I’m more handsome than your fiancé.”

Ladybug actually laughs at that, and Chat’s chest fills with something soft and warm because his lady is happy. She’s sure. She’s always sure, but now about this boy too, the one whom she agonized over for a year before telling Chat about him and even years after, planning dates and next steps. “I don’t think you could beat him,” Ladybug says.

“Why not? I’m told I have a pretty alluring face—or should I say, a _purr_ ing—”

“I swear, if you use that stupid ‘purr’ joke one more time—”

Ladybug tries to take a swipe at him, but she does it with her left hand, and an ill-timed breeze sweeps away the white envelope it pinned down. Ladybug starts and stands up, but Chat is already flying down after it. He grabs it in mid-air and extends his baton to catch him like a clothesline suspended in the narrow alley. Above him, Ladybug’s eyes are wide.

Chat waves the invitation at her, climbs to a nearby window on one of the walls, retracts his baton, and climbs back onto the roof.

“Nice save,” says Ladybug wryly.

“Anything given to me by my lady should be treasured,” Chat says with a grin.

“You might want to not use that sort of talk around me at the wedding. If you come.”

“Is your fiancé the jealous type?”

“Not that I’ve seen so far. Mostly he’s just sweet. A little dorky, but sweet.”

Chat considers this, and then nods. “If he’ll make you happy, that’s good enough for me.”

“He already does. Just…come, okay? Not in costume—I don’t want a fuss from the media. Though I’d understand if you wanted to keep your identity secret, of course, but I just thought that since you’ll know my identity—but no, that’s not fair to you, I’m sorry—”

“Hey,” says Chat, and he places a hand on her arm. He crouches back down to her level and looks her in the eyes. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. I couldn’t miss it, and I’m glad you’re trusting me with this.”

“It’s about time, anyway,” says Ladybug, and she laughs in a way that suggests she feels somewhat guilty about this.

“It’s your choice,” says Chat, and he remembers his own guilt in not sharing his own engagement news. They share an awkward laugh, and then settle back to look at the city.

As they gaze, Chat keeps both hands on the envelope. He won’t open it, not in front of her. He feels like even seeing her name, her real name on the invitation, will be too much for him. No, he doesn’t love Ladybug the way he used to. He loves Ladybug like he loves an old book—the kind he can quote word for word, no matter what page he opens to. But with Marinette, he holds the pen and writes the next chapter.

He’ll come to Ladybug’s wedding. He’ll know her face, and the face of the man whom she chose to marry. And the next time he sees her, he’ll invite her to his own wedding, so she can meet the woman he chose to spend his life with. As his coworker and partner—well, partner in the work sense, anyway—he owes her that much.

“It’s almost dawn,” says Ladybug. “Nothing tonight.”

“Lucky me,” says Chat. “I got to spend it with you.”

“You spend it with me whether we have an akuma or not,” says Ladybug, standing and stretching. She tosses him a content but beleaguered smile. “Good thing it’s finally summer—I need all the sleep I can get.”

“Me too.” He waves the invitation at her. “See you soon?”

“It’s July 14th,” says Ladybug. “We’ll probably see each other a few times before then.” She waves at him blearily. “See you, Chat.”

Chat stares after her. _July 14 th?_

He opens the envelope, brows furrowed. He loves Ladybug, yes, but he can’t just abandon his own wedding to attend hers. He means to look for the time of her wedding, but instead reads the opening line:

_You are cordially invited to attend the upcoming nuptials of M. Adrien Agreste and Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng—_

The squeal Chat lets out echoes across all of Paris.

* * *

 

Marinette is staring at herself in the mirror, willing herself to be prettier. It’s not that she’s ugly, not from how Alya and Rose have been fawning over her all morning. But it’s her wedding day, and she feels just like her old self when she’s about to become _Mme. Adrien Agreste_ , and that title goes to a beautiful woman. It makes perfect sense in her head. If Alya weren’t coming back imminently with eye shadow, she’d bring out Tikki and ask for the reassurance she’s always so lucky to have.

The door to her dressing room knocks.

“You don’t have to knock, Alya,” says Marinette, turning around. “You were only gone—” And she squeals and covers her eyes with her hands.

“Surprise?” says Adrien, his hand at the back of his neck. He’s fully dressed in his tuxedo, missing only cufflinks.

“You’re not—you can’t see me before the wedding!” says Marinette. “It’s bad luck.”

“Is it?” Marinette peeks between her fingers at Adrien’s tone. The amount of humor in his voice is too much for the situation at hand. “Well,” continues Adrien, “I have to tell you, I know a lot more than you think about bad luck.”

Before Marinette can ask what he means by that, he says, “Plagg, claws out!”

_Claws out?_

Marinette pries her hands away from her eyes and watches wide-eyed as Adrien—her fiancé, whom she’s _marrying_ in half an hour—spreads a mask across his own face. Ears emerge when he runs his hand across his hair, his limbs are swallowed in black, a tail shoots out, and—

Chat Noir assumes a fighting pose, and then waves sheepishly at her.

“You—you—” Marinette doesn’t have words.

“You invited me to my own wedding, is the really funny part. And I have to say, it was really, _really_ hard to keep quiet for the past few patrols. At one point I think I was practically vibrating from wanting to tell you, but I just thought, how cool would it be if I—?”

“Tikki!”

Adrien—Chat?—stops talking and tilts his head. “What?”

“Tikki, spots on!”

When Marinette finishes her transformation, her fiancé looks drawn between dropping his jaw and beaming. He’s certainly not surprised; she suspects he’s only impressed.

The two look at each other. Their costumes have essentially eaten Adrien’s tuxedo and Marinette’s wedding dress, so they look horribly out of place among the mirrors and make-up products.

“I, uh.” Chat looks like he’s trying to summarize the situation somewhat appropriately.

Ladybug can’t either, so she goes for the obvious. “Cat got your tongue?”

“That’s my line!”

“And my line is, was this your plan when you told me how to ask you out?” Marinette presses her lips together. She knows Chat had a crush on her back when they first started fighting crime. And, right around the time she started dating Adrien, his advances became fewer and more easily brushed away. She wonders what started what.

“I promise I didn’t know until you gave me the invitation,” says Adrien, holding up a hand. “I was going to invite you too, probably, but I was so occupied with wedding preparations that I didn’t—”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir swivel around to see Alya, her arms filled with beauty products. She drops them on a nearby chair, but looks less than thrilled.

“Any other day I’d be snapping photos left and right,” she says, “but today is my best friend’s wedding, so either you’re here because somebody’s gotten akumatized or you’re stealing my girl, and let me tell you, _neither_ of those are fine by me.”

“Alya, calm down!”

“It’s not like that!”

Ladybug and Chat stare at each other; they spoke simultaneously.

“One more reveal?” asks Chat.

Ladybug glances at Alya, whose arms are folded and who is examining the two of them impatiently. She sighs, and before she knows it, she’s back in her wedding dress.

“And you,” she says, swiveling to Chat, who has just transformed into Adrien, “had better cover your eyes, because if even Ladybug’s luck isn’t enough, I don’t want to find out—WAAAUGH!”

Alya attacks Marinette before she can finish her sentence. “My best friend has been Ladybug the _whole time!”_ She steps backward and holds Marinette by the shoulders. “And you owe me _so_ many interviews, you’re going to go hoarse with how much I’ll be making you talk, and—”

“Hey, can’t we at least have our honeymoon first?” asks Adrien. Now that she’s seen him in both forms in the same room, Marinette can see a lot more of the overlap than she could previously. It makes her smile in a secret way that Alya catches almost immediately.

“Girl, you better prepare yourself all honeymoon, because I’m not going to let _this_ ”—she gestures between Marinette and Adrien—“go. Oh, and I’d better tell Nino!”

“Wait!” says Adrien, intercepting her phone as she pulls it out of her pocket. “Maybe, uh, let me tell him. It’s only fair,” he adds when Alya glares at him and snatches her phone back.

“You can go tell him right now, Mr. Married in Fifteen Minutes,” says Alya. “But right now I’m going to be putting ladybug spots on my girl’s dress, and if you have a problem with that, you’d better prepare your own interview answers too. Now shoo!”

Marinette is half-ignoring what Alya is saying. The more it sinks in, the news that the guy who flirted with her is the same as the man she’s marrying, she can’t stop looking at him.

Nor, it seems, can he stop looking at her. As Alya practically pushes him out the door, he turns around and gives her the most obvious, most Chat-like wink she’s ever seen him give as Adrien.

She responds with a smirk and a filling sense of warmth in her chest. Adrien or Chat, he always finds a way to surprise her.


End file.
